


Small Things

by TsarinaTorment



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Burns, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Fluff, Gen, Hair Brushing, Hurt/Comfort, References to Depression, Watch me shove Virgil to one side again to get caretaker!Gordon instead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 11:22:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29525673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TsarinaTorment/pseuds/TsarinaTorment
Summary: When an injury leaves Scott unable to do even the most simple things for himself and accordingly frustrated, it takes a brother who understands what it's like to halt the slippery slope.
Relationships: Scott Tracy & Gordon Tracy
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	Small Things

**Author's Note:**

> In case you missed the tag, there are implications of some level of depression in this fic, so watch out for that.

Scott was no stranger to injuries, or the frustration of the recovery period. He'd broken bones, torn open skin, and endured worse still, but that never made it easier – and definitely not this time. This time, he was arguably mostly intact, and yet found himself helpless nonetheless.

Burnt palms – both of them, and fingers to boot – meant he couldn't do even the simplest of tasks by himself. Couldn't dress himself, couldn't _eat_ , couldn't do _anything_ except wait for them to heal as he watched his brothers keep going out on rescues without him.

His family did what they could, Virgil in particular weathering the storm of his frustrations when they spilled over, but no matter how many little gadgets Brains designed to try and give him at least some independence, the fact still remained that he was _useless_ and _helpless_.

Virgil was conked out on the couch, dead to the world despite his attempts to stave off exhaustion with caffeine in order to keep Scott company as he watched yet _another_ movie – the only activity he seemed to be able to _do_ without help. He'd wake up later, apologetic for passing out as though he hadn't been on back-to-back rescues with any downtime swallowed up by fussing over his currently-helpless big brother, but for the moment, Scott was more than happy to let him sleep.

Not only did he need it, but the constant smothering was wearing thin. Scott was active, self-reliant and tireless. Even the most well-meaning assistance from Virgil – the one that helped him dress, cut his food, and all the other mundane tasks suddenly beyond his capabilities – was grating. He'd already snapped at him a few times, the most recent of which had been in response to a suggestion he did his hair, moments before John had called in another rescue and Virgil had had to leave before Scott could swallow down the ire, leaving him wallowing in guilt for several hours until he'd returned, dirty and exhausted but still patiently trying to _help_.

It was an honest relief to see his brother sleeping, even if it left Scott balled up on his own couch, trying to ignore the bandages wrapped around his hands and focus on the movie. He was failing miserably, all too aware that the healing process was still in the early stages and that it would be several more days before he could even _think_ of using his hands. Even with the regularly-applied gel, they still hurt.

The movie was, in theory, one of his favourites. Virgil's choice, after he'd huffed when asked if he wanted to choose. Right then, he just wanted to turn it off and-

The holoprojection paused, right in the middle of one of his normally-favourite scenes, and he blinked. That hadn't been his doing. Despite Brains' best efforts, telekinesis was still eluding him.

"Hey, Scott." He turned his head to see Gordon jump down into the den. "Reckon you can do something for me?"

Scott held up his hands, in case Gordon had _somehow_ forgotten. "No. Get Alan to help you with whatever it is."

"Gotta be you, bro," Gordon insisted, catching his wrists and tugging insistently. "You don't need your hands for this."

Despite himself, Scott found that he was intrigued. The promise of being able to _do_ something was a powerful allure. "What is it?"

"C'mon," Gordon insisted in leu of answering, and warning bells rang even as his younger brother successfully pulled him to his feet. Agreeing to help before hearing the details was _always_ a no with this particular brother. His appetite for pranks was insatiable, and sometimes his timing left something to be desired. Scott couldn't handle a prank. Not right now.

"Gordon, what are you doing?"

"Trust me," his brother replied. Two words that often came with warning bells. Scott knew Gordon, though. Knew when _trust me_ meant imminent pranking and warned that he should be running, and when he could genuinely trust whatever plan his brother had concocted. This was the latter, full sincerity with a hint of a plea behind it.

Trust was important in their family. It had to be, for International Rescue to work. Gordon knew that as well as any of them, and when he used _that_ voice, it was always true. Whatever he had planned, he believed it wouldn't negatively impact Scott.

He sighed, and let his shoulders sag, feeling the tension start to seep away. "Where are we going?"

Gordon's hand was steady at the small of his back, guiding him gently through the house. Towards the bedrooms, and Scott stumbled to a halt when Gordon stopped outside his room. Of all the places he expected, his own bedroom was near the bottom of the list. "Gordon?"

"Come on, bro," Gordon coaxed, opening the door and nudging him through it. Scott let him, still confused, and found himself guided to his bed. "Sit."

Eyeing his brother, and still completely lost as to what he was planning, Scott obeyed. His bandaged, _useless_ , hands rested in his lap, and he glared down at them before glancing back up to see that Gordon had left his side and was rummaging around in his bathroom.

"Hey!" What was he _doing_?

"Easy, Scott," Gordon called back, turning around and returning. In his hands were Scott's comb and hair gel, two items that hadn't seen the light of day since his hands got burnt so badly they couldn't hold either.

Scott didn't appreciate the reminder that, despite Virgil's pleading, his hair was a sorry mess.

"What are you doing with those?" he demanded, starting to stand. A hand on his shoulder stopped him, and he found himself looking up into compassionate amber eyes. Gordon gave him a small smile, barely a twitch of his lips but in that moment, it hit harder than his usual exaggerated expressions.

"Relax," he said, clambering onto the bed and settling somewhere behind Scott. Attempts to turn his head were prevented by gentle hands, keeping him facing forwards. "I've got you."

Scott's mind was scrambling to work out what his brother had planned, and how this came into him doing anything for Gordon, but before he could finish putting the facts together there were gentle fingers in his hair, carding through softly and pulling wayward strands back from his face.

His immediate instinct was to pull away – he let his brothers do a lot, but his hair had always been off-limits, in no small part because it was an obvious target for Gordon and dye, but also just because it _was_. Even now, he'd refused to let Virgil touch it.

"Gordon-" he started, and the fingers retreated, only for arms to wrap around his shoulders from behind. Soft, comforting, and a far cry from the crushing squid hugs his water-loving brother loved to dish out. A weight against his back, and then a cheek pressed against his. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw strawberry blond hair, and amber eyes looking at him.

"Let me do this?" his brother asked, in that exact same tone he'd used earlier for _trust me_. Sincere, but a little pleading.

"Why?" His voice cracked, an unexpected show of weakness, and he flinched. Gordon didn't acknowledge it, seemingly content to let him pretend it didn't happen.

"I think it'll help," he murmured instead. "Please?"

_Help who?_

Scott didn't see how letting Gordon do his hair would _help_ anyone. It wouldn't heal the burns any faster, wouldn't give him back his independence any sooner.

But he'd never been able to say no to a brother when they asked like that, all quiet and sincere.

"Don't mess it up," he caved, looking away. He felt Gordon's smile against his cheek anyway.

"Thanks, Scott."

The arms retracted slowly, the cheek also leaving his, and he felt the mattress dip as Gordon shuffled back into position behind him.

Then the fingers were back in his hair, teasing out the tangles and knots that had formed with infinite patience and care. The motions were soothing in their repetitiveness, Gordon's fingers dexterous and nimble as they preened out the worst of the mess, and despite himself Scott felt a little more tension bleed away.

Fingertips found his scalp and dragged across lightly, almost a massage, for a few brief moments, before retreating entirely.

Then it was the teeth of his comb, running through strands slowly but steadily and pausing whenever they nudged a tangle Gordon's fingers hadn't completely erased. Those, the comb bit into lightly, coaxing and cajoling the strands and never once tugging at his scalp.

Scott had no idea where Gordon had learnt to be so gentle with hair.

There was no mirror in view from where he was sat, but Scott didn't need one to feel the weight of his hair slowly shifting, leaving its unkempt and chaotic tragedy and falling into the familiar style he favoured. Without gel, the strands at the front attempted to flop forwards, over his forehead, and he resisted the instinct to swipe them back.

His hands wouldn't thank him, and the hair would inevitably get tangled in the bandages, but what actually stopped him was the sensation of Gordon interchanging comb with fingers as he continued to smooth the hair back until it fell just right. Gordon had asked to do this, and despite his initial misgivings, Scott found he was _enjoying_ it. No-one had done his hair for him since he was a kid, Mom fussing and asserting her right as his mother to do so. Not like _this_.

Distracted by sudden memories, he missed the moment the comb left his hair for good, and startled slightly when the cool sensation of gel seeped through his hair. Gordon had returned to using his fingers, smoothing his hair into position with a precision no doubt born of seeing it so many times, and Scott closed his eyes.

The touches steadily grew lighter, lingering for longer and ghosting over what were presumably stray strands that needed a little more gel to keep in place, until they left all together.

He opened his eyes as the mattress shifted, turning his head to see Gordon slipping off the bed, rubbing his hands with a towel to get the gel off his fingers. Amber eyes surveyed his hair sharply, before Gordon gave another small, tender smile.

"Come on, bro." Hands cradled his wrists, carefully away from the bandages, and drew him to his feet. "Now you get to judge my work."

Scott let Gordon lead him to his bathroom, where the mirror hung above the sink. It was something he'd avoided looking at for the past few days, aware of his deteriorating hair yet unable to fix it and unwilling to let anyone _else_ until Gordon wormed his way in with softly pleading sincerity, but a light nudge over the threshold had him reluctantly facing his reflection.

He looked like himself.

There were still bags under his eyes from the sleepless nights, and his skin was still pale and a little haunted, but his hair was gelled back just the way he liked it – the way he laboured over it every day even when he forwent other aspects of self-care because he didn't have _time_ – and while it was only one thing, it was enough to banish the unkempt shadow he'd become and replace it with something blessedly familiar. Blessedly _normal_.

Unconsciously, his back straightened, leaving him standing tall once again.

Gordon's reflection joined his, standing alongside him as a hand rested on his shoulder.

"Any better?" his brother asked, worry in his eyes. Scott tore himself away from his reflection to look down at the flesh-and-blood young man next to him.

"Yeah," he admitted. "Gords- what-?"

"When everything goes to hell, it's the small things that make the difference," Gordon said. The reminder was bittersweet – Gordon, too, had once been unable to do even the most basic of tasks unaided. "It helped me. I thought it was worth a try for you."

A sense of normality amongst an ocean of uncertainty. Something to hold onto when he had nothing else.

Scott raised his arm, resting it lightly around Gordon's shoulders.

"Thank you," he murmured, looking back at the mirror where the man that looked much more like himself stood, arm around his little brother. In hindsight, it was obvious; a lack of self-care was a slippery slope – one he'd seen Gordon fight before.

"I know you'd rather do it yourself," Gordon continued. "But remember, we're here to help you." The hand on his shoulder squeezed for a brief moment. "You just have to let us."

Gordon looked relieved, Scott realised. He hadn't noticed how worried his younger brother had been until it was gone, but the story was there, behind smiling eyes and a steadily growing grin on his face.

"Thanks," he said again. There was nothing else he _could_ say. Nothing that properly appreciated what his brother had done for him. Was offering to keep doing, if Scott was reading him right.

He was usually pretty accurate when it came to reading his brothers.

"Could-" he started, mouth ahead of his brain. "Could you-" He couldn't quite get the words out, instincts still rebelling against asking for help – asking for _this –_ despite it being freely offered.

"Keep doing it for you until you can do it yourself again?" Luckily – in this particular instance – Gordon could read him, too. Scott nodded jerkily. "Of course."

The hand on his shoulder moved, arm reaching around him until Gordon had him in a half-embrace.

"Welcome back, big bro."

If Virgil had any thoughts about Scott letting Gordon help when he'd been refused at every offer, he kept them firmly to himself when he was woken by the pair of them returning to finish the movie. Scott did, however, find himself subject to a bear hug, and relieved brown eyes looking him over.

In hindsight, it was obvious Virgil had seen what was happening all along, and Scott regretted getting snappy with him about it. Virgil waved off his apologies, but did consent to go and get some proper sleep in his bed as long as Gordon promised not to leave him alone while he did.

The insinuation that he needed a minder should have grated. _Would_ have grated, half an hour before, when he was still a miserable mess curled up in the corner of a couch. But as Gordon promised, solemn sincerity that Virgil could trust, and settled more comfortably on the couch with his arm around his shoulders, Scott just found himself thankful for how much his brothers cared.

**Author's Note:**

> More self indulgent Scott&Gordon fluff because I can and because this scene's been living in my head rent-free for the past week or so. Might be the last thing I write for a while, because uni's just decided to let me know I need to do 390 hours of independent study for a single module with the deadline in eight weeks, and if you're any good at maths you'll realise there's a problem there (alternatively, stress might drive me to writing loads to escape reality; we'll see).
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> Tsari


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